


In the end...

by a_secret_scribbler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cottage Pie, Hand Jobs, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Lube, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_secret_scribbler/pseuds/a_secret_scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened just like this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the end...

In the end, it wasn’t at all like either of them had imagined. The ‘something’ the ‘whatever-the-fuck-it-is’ that was rapidly taking hold since John’s return to Baker Street, wasn’t played out in gasping urgency against the wall after an adrenalin inducing chase, nor was it a gentle falling together on the couch. No, after months, well, let’s be honest here, years, of them both managing to avoid the obvious sexual chemistry between them, it happened just like this…

*

Sherlock was lounging the full length of the couch when he heard John’s hurried footsteps on the stairs, there was a moment’s hesitation as he shifted the carrier bags he was holding into one hand and grappled with the door handle, the door swung open and he burst into the room like a mini tornado.

“Sherlock…could you at least help me get the shopping into the kitchen? I’ve been at the clinic all bloody day and then I called in Tesco’s on the way home because, Christ, if we waited for you to do the shopping we’d both look like yer mate over there,” he paused nodding towards the skull on the mantelpiece, “a bit of help would be appreciated…No? Okay, you just lie there, I’ll do everything, as per fucking usual. I don’t know why I bother asking…”

John’s mutterings petered off as he disappeared into the kitchen, they were replaced by cupboard doors banging, the fridge being repeatedly opened and shut, and pans being pulled down off shelves. John was planning on cooking dinner, the radio started up, popular music, John was humming along, that meant it had to be Radio 2, he didn’t know any of the songs that they played on that other station. Music meant that John was in a good mood, belaying his earlier rant, which meant he was going to make lasagne, or possibly cottage pie, Sherlock secretly hoped it was cottage pie, John’s lasagne left something to be desired and they could eat better at Angelo’s. John’s cottage pie, however, was something to behold, especially the crispy bits around the edges, they were Sherlock’s favourite, John always let him serve himself scoops from the edges, although he did put up a fight, saying that it made the dish look like rats had been at it. He hoped that John left it in the oven slightly too long, it tasted even better when the edges were almost burned.

The smell of mince and onion frying off in the pan stirred Sherlock into action, he could lay here and deduce what John was going to serve up, or he could search for clues. He swept into the other room and cast his eyes over the kitchen surface, no lasagne sheets to be seen, but a large pan and the potato peeler sitting next to the sink, eureka, cottage pie it was. Excellent.

John was standing next to the stove, poking at the mince and onions with a bright turquoise plastic spoon, good, Sherlock had been using the wooden one to stir his stomach acid and liver experiment and he wasn’t sure how thoroughly he had cleaned it now he came to think about it. A song was playing on the radio, Sherlock had some recollection of the melody, it had been around in his childhood when Mycroft had a thing for the gardener’s son, and he had insisted on playing the bloody thing over and over again. John obviously knew the song well by the way he was shaking his arse in time to the music and singing the chorus, Boys of Summer, that was it. Now that Sherlock had noticed John’s bottom, clad in rather well-fitting jeans, dark blue, new? He hadn’t noticed John wearing them before, a vast improvement on the usual supermarket brand he wore. Designer then? Perhaps if he got a little closer he could read the label on the back, he crouched slightly, Diesel, how John, mid-priced and well made, designed to show off the arse and lengthen the leg, Sherlock approved.

He was very aware of his own hands, shoved firmly in his jacket pockets, willing them not to fly out of their constraints and stroke over the denim clad buttocks. Then he heard it, the cough, the Watson “I’m not sure what you are doing, but you’d better stop it right now” cough, usually reserved for crime scenes and group social activities. Sherlock stood up straight and looked the doctor in the eye, and what eyes, beautiful deep blue, with a ring of gold around the pupil, one minute navy, the next the colour of lapis lazuli. Oh. The pupils. They were dilated. Sherlock immediately dismissed drugs, seizures, dim lighting and concussion, that left arousal. John was looking at him and he was showing signs of arousal. Oh dear God! Without a second thought, Sherlock grabbed either side of Johns face, spun him around, safety reasons, leaning against the stove could cause combustion of flammable materials and Johns jumper almost certainly had some acrylic content, steered him until he was pressed against the kitchen table and swooped down for a kiss. It wasn’t graceful or particularly well executed, but after the initial shock, when John had gripped his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, lovely, must catalogue them later, and started to kiss him back, licking and sucking at his lips, guiding Sherlock’s head so that they avoided clashing noses, then, sweet Jesus, why had he been wasting all his time on experiments and crime scenes when he could have been doing this, with John?

Sherlock began to feel a little light headed, partly from the lack of oxygen, he hadn’t quite mastered the kissing to breathing ratio, and partly because all the blood in his body was rushing south and giving him a rather, if he said so himself, impressive erection. He pulled away from John, noticing how the smaller man swayed slightly towards him as he stepped back, it was now or never.

“John. I am nearly forty and far too old for romantic notions, therefore I won’t wait any longer for you to sweep me off my feet like some teenage heroine in a penny novel. If you would like to join me in my bedroom and divest me of my virginity, I suggest you get a move on.” He then swept out of the room and into his bedroom, shedding clothes as he went, before arranging himself nicely on his bed, taking hold of his penis, and stroking it to full arousal.

John, meanwhile, was leaning heavily against the kitchen table, gripping a chair to stop himself falling over, his mind was trying to sift through the information that had flooded it in the last five minutes. Cooking dinner. Fuck, the mince! He reached over and turned off the flame before there was nothing but ash to salvage. Kissing. Yes there had been a lot of that. Glorious. Tongues and nipping of teeth. He felt flushed, his cock was straining at the buttons of his new jeans, the sales assistant had been right about them, they certainly did show off his best assets. Sherlock’s declaration. Oh dear God, Sherlock was a virgin, all these years and apparently no interest in sex and now, now he wanted John, not so ‘Not Gay!’ anymore, John. At that precise moment he heard that deep sonorous voice.

“John. Can you please leave the existential crisis about your sexuality until the morning, I have an erection and if you’re not here in the next 30 seconds…” Sherlock called, and then a deep throaty moan stirred John out of his stupor, he ran into the bedroom and came to a startling halt when he saw Sherlock laid out on his bed like an erotic picnic, his head thrown back and his back arched as he stroked himself slowly, he was biting his lip to stop the sounds escaping. No. That wouldn’t do at all, more sounds, must have more sounds. John tore at his clothing, whipping the jumper over his head and casting it to the dust bunnies under the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt and, at the same time, toed off his shoes and socks, he struggled with the buttons of his fly, cursing the lack of zip, and practically ripped them from their holes in his haste to be horizontal. Lastly, taking hold of the elastic, he eased off his pants, carefully avoiding injuring anything he may want to use later, and dropped them where he stood. Sherlock opened one eye and looked over at the hesitant man, “Come here John, quickly! I need you.”

That was all the encouragement the man needed, he climbed onto the bed and crawled over to where Sherlock lay lazily fondling his own cock. John propped himself up on one elbow and watched in rapt attention before clearing his throat and asking “Would you like a little help with that, Sherlock?”

The hand/cock motion stopped immediately and his eyes flew wide open, “Yes John…please, feel free to take over whenever you’re ready,” he dropped his hands to his side, “Now would be good…” he added impatiently.

It had been a while since John had held another man’s penis in his hand, in a non-medical setting, and there weren’t many of those to be fair, so he took the other man in hand carefully at the base and gripped it loosely, giving it one stroke up to the tip. Both men watched as a large bead of pre-come appeared at the slit and dribbled down onto his knuckles, Sherlock moaned and John gave a gasp at the sight.

“Do you have lube?” seemed an appropriate question, he would happily wank Sherlock dry, but the slipperier the better as far as John was concerned. Sherlock blinked and then shook his head. “Don’t fucking move,” John said leaping off the bed and preparing to do the 100m dash faster than Usain Bolt, “Don’t touch that!” he pointed at Sherlock’s erection which was straining and leaking against his stomach, “I’ll be back,” he added in a vaguely Austrian accent which the younger man decided he would enquire about later.

John appeared, slightly out of breath, a minute later, with his bedside drawer, he’d apparently been too impatient to rummage through it, so just yanked it free from the cabinet and brought it along for the ride. Grabbing a small bottle and then throwing the rest to the floor, he was at Sherlock’s side and ready for ‘Operation Get His Flatmate Off’ #2 immediately. He squeezed a healthy dollop of lube into his hand and rubbed his fingers together like Fagin from Oliver (The conversation they had later would go along the lines of “You know who Ron bloody Moody is but you’ve never seen Terminator? Jesus Sherlock!”) Then he took hold of his best friends prick and gave it a damned good tugging. Sherlock nearly flew off the bed at the new sensation of John’s slippery fingers flying over the length of his aching cock, “Lubrication! There’s always something!” he blurted out as he sent pulses of come in an arch over his belly, and his brain fizzled out completely.

A couple of minutes later, when Sherlock had re-booted, he happily and enthusiastically performed the same operation on John’s penis, with a little added licking and an exploratory finger up the arse. John came like a firecracker and painted Sherlock’s face and throat with his own nut butter. Sherlock swiped a finger through the mess and stuck it into his mouth, “Mmm…salty.”

The two men lay side by side as their heartrates slowed, John reached over the edge of the bed, scrabbled around for a bit until he found his shirt, then he leant over and wiped his sperm from the other man’s face, and chest, and stomach. To be honest, most of their combined release seemed to have missed John, but he felt at least partly responsible for the clean-up. Sherlock turned towards him and raised one eyebrow, “So, does that count as losing my virginity, or does one person have to insert a penis inside the other one first?”

John pondered a moment, “I guess it’s a start. Though to do a proper job of it there probably would have to be penis insertion involved. Just to make sure that the cherry is thoroughly popped, and then there are lots of other first times, first blow job, given, and received, first time you get rimmed, first time you rim someone, many, many, sexual acts…just so you know.”

“So, let me get this straight. There will have to be repeated experimentation to ensure that I am most comprehensively deflowered?” Sherlock questioned, kneeling up and looming over John.

“Oh God yeah. Could take months. Years even. You’ll probably want to take the variables into account, such as the time of day, the temperature, location, so many variables…you might need to add a new wing to your mind palace.” John smirked.

“Right. But I’d need a control, something that was the same every time…” Sherlock said swiping a sneaky tongue over John’s left nipple.

“You idiot! That would be me! I mean…If it’s for science, I suppose I could be called on to volunteer my services.”

“Excellent John! I’m going to get your laptop, I can plot my findings in Excel…Oooh John! PowerPoint!” and with that he scarpered into the living room, reappearing seconds later to plant a sloppy kiss on John’s forehead. “Thank you John. This is better than the fungal infection experiment I’ve got brewing in the microwave…Ah, I can see by your face I’ve not mentioned that one before, well not to worry, I’ll catch you up over dinner. Dinner John?” and he scampered off again.

John slipped on his jeans and jumper, walked back into the kitchen, and gave his hands a bloody good scrub before starting on the potatoes, “Cottage pie Sherlock?” he shouted to the next room.

“Lovely John. Did you know pineapple can alter the taste of sperm? I wonder if the same could be said for cottage pie? We’ll have to test that theory later…”

*

**Author's Note:**

> John's Cottage Pie recipe
> 
> 1kg floury potatoes, such as Maris Piper, peeled  
> 2 tbsp veg oil  
> Butter  
> 2 onions, chopped  
> 2 carrots, diced  
> 2 sticks celery, diced  
> 1 tsp dried thyme  
> 600g good quality minced beef  
> 350ml beef stock  
> 1 tsp cornflour  
> Worcestershire sauce
> 
> 1\. Pre-heat the oven to 180C. Cut your potatoes into evenly sized chunks, and put in a large pan of cold, salted water. Bring to the boil and simmer until tender.
> 
> 2\. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a pan over a moderate heat, then add the vegetables. Soften, but do not brown. 
> 
> 3\. Add the thyme, and then the minced beef. Brown it all over, and then add half the stock. Whisk the other half with the cornflour, and then stir into the meat mixture. Add a generous dash of Worcestershire sauce and allow to simmer on a low heat for 15 minutes. 
> 
> 4\. Drain the potatoes and mash with a generous dollop of butter. Season to taste.
> 
> 5\. Taste and season the meat, adding more Worcestershire sauce if necessary. If it looks dry, pour in a little water.
> 
> 6\. Put the meat into a large baking dish and top with the potato. fluff it up with a fork to get nice brown crispy bits (Sherlock's favourite). Dot with small pieces of butter. 
> 
> 7\. Put into the oven for about 40 minutes, until the potato is crisp and slightly brown, then serve.


End file.
